"The '68 primaries. Around that time. You know, the conventions."
A bug jumped. Sam caught it. Sam smashed it.
"Breed no more, you fuck."
Charts: Profit flow/overhead/debits.
Littell read charts. Littell studied charts. Littell took notes. He worked on the terrace. The view distracted him. He loved Lake Michigan.
The Drake Hotel--two-bedroom suite--on Sam Giancana.
Littell read charts. Fund-book stats jumped. Money lent/money invested/money repaid.
Business targets. Fund-financed. Potential takeover prey. Let's extort said businesses. Let's build foreign casinos. Let's buy a President. Let's shape policy. Let's reverse 1960. Let's spread our bets. Let's cover all odds. Let's subvert left-wing nations.
That was odd--the Outfit leaned right--the Outfit bribed right per said leaning.
Chicago broiled. Wind scoured the lake. Littell ditched his charts. Littell studied briefs.
Appeal briefs--let's keep Jimmy out. Stock briefs--let's get Drac in. It was shit work. It was repetitive. It was post-dead.
He got up. He stretched. He watched Lake Shore Drive. He saw car lights as streamers.
He went by his banks yesterday. He withdrew tithe money. He cut tithe checks. He mailed them. He worried a phone call.
He called Bayard Rustin. He lied off Bogalusa. He did it to protect himself. He did it to protect Pete and Wayne.
He'd read the papers. He saw the news. The church blew "accidental." No one linked Chuck. No one linked WILD RABBIT.
He called Bayard. He dittoed the news. He said a gas main blew. He cited fake sources. Bayard expressed gratitude. Bayard expressed belief. He lied. He lied deftly. He acted late.
The church blew. His late fees accrued--fees for his dead and maimed.
He saw the maimed. Some Feds saw him. Said Feds might inform Mr. Hoover. He got drunk. He killed Chuck. He got sober. He still wanted it. He still tasted it. Liquor signs glowed.
He killed Chuck. He slept twelve hours. He woke up to this: End it. Leave the Life. Cut and run when you can.
Sam said yes. Sam gave his blessing. Sam had stipulations. Carlos might say yes. Carlos might have stipulations.
Tithes/stipulations/election years.
He served Mr. Hoover. They colluded. It spawned BLACK RABBIT. It spawned WILD RABBIT. It spawned dead and maimed. He killed Chuck. Pete braced WILD RABBIT. It was catch-up penance. It was wholly insufficient.
The lake glowed. Cruise boats cruised. He saw bow lights. He saw dance bands. He saw women.
Jane was war now. Jane outflanked him. Jane knew him before he knew her. She knew he stole. She knew he bagged money. She knew he played covert tapes.
She went through his papers. He caught her at it. They retreated. They quashed talk. They quashed confrontations.
Jane had plans. He knew it. She might want to hurt him. She might want to use him. She might want to know him more.
It scared him. It moved him. It made him want her more.
A boat drew close. A band played. A blue dress twirled. Janice wore dresses like that.
She was still bawdy. It was still good. She still served up stories and sex.
She dished Wayne Senior. The details scared him. Wayne Senior was FATHER RABBIT. Janice dished him. Janice loathed him. Janice still felt his hold.
The boat cruised by. The blue dress vanished. Littell called the Sands. Janice was out. Littell called the DI. Littell checked his messages.
One message: Call Lyle Holly--he's at the Riv. Shit--WHITE RABBIT wants you.
Littell got the number. Littell put the call off. Littell prepped a tape. Littell grabbed a spool.
Sam scared him. Sam waxed profane. Bobby/cocksucker/rue the fucking day.
Littell prepped his tape-rig. Littell memory-laned.
Chicago, 1960--the Phantom loves Bobby. Chicago, 1965--Bobby lives on tape.
79.
(Las Vegas, 7/20/65)
Tiger teemed.
Scribes pressed Sonny--give us quotes--rag that punk Cassius X. Sonny ignored them. Sonny quaffed Chivas. Sonny pawed mink coats.
Donkey Dom stole them. Donkey Dom sold them. Donkey Dom namedropped. I pop fur shops/I bone Rock Hudson/I poke Sal Mineo.
His bun boy sulked. His bun boy griped hypocritical. His bun boy pimped drag queens full-time.
Wayne watched. Barb watched.
Dom shagged calls. His bun boy buzzed drivers. They juked the noon rush. Sonny bought mink mittens. Sonny bought mink jockstraps. Sonny bought mink earmuffs.
A scribe said, "Are those furs hot?"
Sonny said, "Your mama's hot. I'm your daddy."
A scribe said, "Why don't you join the civil-rights movement?"
Sonny said, "Cause I ain't got no dog-proof ass."
The scribes yukked. Wayne yukked. Barb walked out to the lot. She popped pills. She chased them. She chugged flat 7-Up.
Wayne walked out. Wayne braced her in close.
"Pete's rotating back. You start flying the second he's gone."
Barb stepped back. "Think about what you do, and tell me you disapprove then."
Wayne stepped close. "Look who we sell to."
"Look at me. Do I look like one of the junkie whores you've created?"
"I'm looking. I'm seeing lines you didn't have a year ago."
Barb laughed. "I've earned them. I've got fifteen years in the Life."
Wayne stepped back. "You're dodging me."
"No. I'm just saying I've been around longer, and I know how things work better than you."
"Tell Pete that. He won't buy it, but tell him anyway."
Barb stepped close. "You're hooked, not me. You're hooked on the Life, and you still don't know how it works."
Wayne stepped close. They bumped knees. Wayne smelled Barb's soap.
"You're just pissed that there's no place in it for you."
Barb stepped back. "You're going to do things that you won't be able to live with."
"Maybe I have already."
"It gets worse. And you'll do worse things, just to prove you can take it."
Test run: Four collections. Four junkie deadbeats. Sonny's collection debut.
Said junkies annexed a church basement. Said junkies had squatters' rights. Their pastor skin-popped Demerol. Said junkies geezed up in church.
Wayne drove. Sonny cleaned his nails with a switchblade. Sonny sipped scotch. West LV sizzled. Folks soaked in kiddie pools. Folks lived in air-cooled cars.
Wayne said, "I killed a colored guy in Saigon."
Sonny said, "I killed a white guy in St. Louis."
There's the church. It's dilapidated. It's sandblasted. It's neon-signed. Dig the prayer hands and crosses. Dig the Jesus rolling dice.
They parked. They walked back to the basement door. They picked the lock. They walked in.
They saw four junkies. They're crapped out on car seats--scavenged off old Cadillacs. They saw spoons and matchbooks. They saw spikes and tube ties. They saw bindles and white dregs.
There's a hi-fi. There's some LPs. It's all gospel wax.
The junkies reposed--one per seat--the land of Naugahyde Nod. They saw Sonny. They saw Wayne. They snickered. They giggled. They sighed.
Wayne said, "Go."
Sonny whistled. Sonny stomped. Sonny stormed Naugahyde Nod.
"You motherfuckers have got ten seconds to quit fucking with this house of worship and pay up what you owe."
One junkie giggled. One junkie scratched. One junkie chuckled. One junkie yawned.
Wayne turned on the hi-fi. Wayne flipped a disc. Wayne laid the needle down. It was loud shit. It was ecstatic--Crawdaddy's Christian Chorale.
Wayne said, "Go."
Sonny kicked the car seats. Sonny dumped the junkies. Sonny threw the junkies down. They squirmed. They squealed. They evacuated Naugahyde Nod.
Sonny kicked them. Sonny picked them up. Sonny dropped them. Sonny grabbed the car seats. Sonny aimed. Sonny dropped them on their heads.
They squealed. They screeched. They howled and bled.
Sonny slapped them. Sonny picked their pockets. Sonny tossed pocket trash. One guy turned his pockets out. One guy ran pleas.
Sonny picked him up. Sonny dropped him. Sonny kicked him. Sonny bent down. Sonny caught his pleas.
Sonny stood up. Sonny smiled. Sonny signaled Wayne. Crawdaddy crescendoed. Wayne pulled the plug and walked up.
Sonny smiled. "As of spring, Wendell Durfee was running a string of wetback whores in Bakersfield, California."
80.